Pushing through the Darkness
by imaverybasicgirl
Summary: When everything crumples down around you, when everything you have ever known collapses as you watch, how would you cope? Pushing through the darkness seems to an unachievable target. One which seems so far off and distant, you start to lose yourself in the process. Wouldn't read it if you haven't yet seen the 'Reichenbach Fall'. The ending is not too dark, so don't be afraid!


He couldn't describe the emptiness he felt, and there was nothing to distract his mind from the whole inside him. He hobbled along the pavement, hurrying amongst the crowd and only slowing to stop at the traffic lights. As soon as the green appeared he was off again, as fast as him limp would allow him.

He wasn't really going anywhere, just wandering aimlessly not caring where his feet took him. His surroundings came all too clear though when he found himself stood in front of a familiar building, a familiar part of the pavement and a experiencing that familiar feeling of hopelessness.

He gritted his teeth, and held back bitter tears not wanting to cause a scene. Turning his back on the hospital, he walked away again with that one burning question imprinted upon his mind. _Why_. He would give anything to see those grey blue eyes again, but his futile attempts to wish away the darkness were only that: attempts. He tried, god knows he tried, but every time he opens his eyes from a fitful sleep nothing had changed.

Nothing had changed in weeks and life had become mundane and just a routine his body followed. His mind on the other hand was never there, not absent but never fully there and willing to participate.

He felt the cold rush of wind against his cheek, and he felt the chill that winter had mercilessly engulfed London with. The winter was a bleak one, but was a season that he had welcomed with open arms. It was the only change he welcomed, he wanted things to remain as normal as possible; but the times that his mind suddenly broke free and realised the reality of events, he would be choked with his own raw emotion and the actual power of feeling.

However, as soon as he broke down he would build the walls back up stronger than he had before. Each time it got harder and harder to succumb to any human feeling, but each time he realised who and what had made him this way he would howl and fall deeper into a fit of despair. He hopes that one day he can just let go of it all, just let go and be rid of the chain that binds him to the past. He needs to burn his bridges, but whenever he tries the bridges refuse to ignite and stay standing defiantly.

The thoughts of _him_ would pierce his mind all the time, it was like he didn't want him to let go and forget. The constant reminders would be the death of him, he was sure. He tried welcoming the reminders once, he tried sitting in the flat and letting _him_ come bursting into his thoughts like a cannonball.

He would be alone with him, and he surrounded himself in the memories. Sometimes, just sometimes, he would half expect him to come waltzing through that door again. Sometimes, he even pretended he was actually there listening to what he had to say, they would have a chat and he wouldn't feel so alone anymore.

But then he would realise that he _is_ alone, there's no going back and he'll never be the same again. This puts a halt on memory lane, and he wished he could posses the talent of 'deleting' unwanted information, just like somebody else he once knew. The days drag by, and he loses count of what day/week/month he is in. He couldn't care less, he lost the will to fight a while back and hasn't kept track since.

He sighs, he seems to be doing a lot of that now, and it's all he ever seems to do anymore. His breath floats out from his lungs and disappears in thin wisps into the cold, damp air. A lone walker standing in a crowded city, a city where everybody but him seems to be happy. He despises them, the public. The public and the press.

They get their story; they manipulate words and gossip like they're not talking about a human life. They get excited at the 'stories' and are hungry for more, until they just get bored and throw away their discarded meal like it's no longer worth their time. _They_ don't have to live with the consequences. _They_ don't have to feel the impact it has had on his life. _They_ don't have to live out the rest of their days on Earth alone knowing that the person who changed your life is never, ever, coming back.

He lost more than a friend that day; he lost a part of himself. No matter how stupid that sounds, he lost more than any man could ever begin to hope to imagine.

He arrives back at the front door and stands there a moment, just taking in the golden sign. _221b_. its gold has lost its shine, and now just stands there as dull and lifeless as he himself feel. Sighing again he peels open the door and takes his time up the stairs, leaning wearily on the banister whilst doing so.

When he arrives inside and looks inside, he immediately regrets it. He never cleaned up. Everything that was _his_ remains untouched. He looks around for the first proper time in weeks, and notices how it looks as though two men still there. The violin propped up against the side of the sofa, an unfinished experiment lying across the table and case notes littering the floor around the fireplace.

That's when he breaks. He gives an almighty roar and charges into the place, smashing the test tubes, ripping up the notes, smashing the mirror and destroying anything his hands could lay themselves on. He glares about the room and tramples upon anything that relates to _him_. But then the red clears as suddenly as it came and he realises what he is doing. He sinks to floor and puts his head in his hands, sobbing into the bloodied mess of his fingers.

He sits there for what seems hours, or maybe days, he couldn't tell. The sound of his phone pulls him from his thoughts; he looks around wildly for a moment wondering where the sound was coming from before finding it within his coat pocket.

He turns of the phone and is enveloped in silence once again. He is ashamed of what he did, and knows he needs to clean up before she sees the mess. _Probably heard me_ he thinks bitterly, probably scared her within an inch of her life, but he will be eternally grateful for leaving him to work it out of his system.

He picks up a shard of the shattered mirror, and stares at his own reflection. What he finds there he doesn't recognise, who is the man staring back at him? He's nothing but a stranger now. There are dark circles under each of his bloodshot eyes; his hair hangs limply around his haggard, worn out face. No, this isn't him. The stranger in the mirror is a quitter, somebody so broken he doesn't know how to mend.

Will the saying be true? Will time heal all wounds? Time has yet to tell, but for now, there is one thing he knows. The man in the mirror isn't him. He needs to change that reflection to who he really is, and it needs to change now. For the first time in a long time, he sees a little light on the other side. Not a blinding one mind, just a little one. Enough of a light to give him something he doesn't think he's felt in a long time. For the first in eternity, John Watson felt hope.

* * *

_**Thank you for reading this, and I am truly sorry for all the angst. I just re-watched that dreaded last episode and bawled for what must have been the thousandth time. Anyway, if you could take the time to review I would really appreciate it, and constructive criticism is always welcome! **_


End file.
